


Shut Up and Teach Me

by priince22ofzen



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, F/F, F/M, Humanstuck, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-04-23
Updated: 2012-05-11
Packaged: 2017-11-04 04:07:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/389574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/priince22ofzen/pseuds/priince22ofzen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When two powerful personalities clash, especially theirs, conflict can be inevitable.  But sometimes all it takes is a little understanding, a little time, and a hell of a lot of patience.  </p><p>It's just a matter of understanding who's teaching whom, here.</p><p>[PLEASE NOTE: On hiatus.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Alright! We're actually trying something on that isn't a oneshot! Woo! This is mine and Lucyha's baby. DaveSol. Erm. WE HOPE YOU LIKE IT. C: Any and all art was done by Lucyha, the talented little bugger. <3

 

Your name is Sollux Captor, and do you ever hate living in Austin, Texas. As long as you're being honest with yourself, there is literally nothing that holds your interest here, and you wish you could go back to New York, but that much is a pipe dream as long as your father still has custody over you. At least until you turn eighteen, you're stuck in a public school.

You don't suppose it's too bad, really – you have managed to make friends with a small group of people over the last three years, and being in your junior year has its perks. Most of the underclassmen leave you alone, for starters, unless they are an unwilling victim to your tutoring skills. You pity the poor sods whenever you're given a new one to bring up to par, they really are small and fragile little brats. Oh, well, at least the job pays a little. As far as clubs go, you don't belong to a single one and the mathletes can beg as hard as they want because that's never going to change. (Besides the fact that you don't really have the time, you've been described as a bit lazy on occasion and you do have a reputation to uphold as the nerdy loner kid.)

As far as your aforementioned social circle goes, as small as it is, you wouldn't trade any of those crazy assholes for the world. First and foremost there is Karkat Vantas, the one kid who's stuck by your side through the entirety of your high school career for no reason you can possibly comprehend. He's loud and obnoxious, he talks too much and most of it is yelling, and he seems perpetually irritated with a scowl that is probably burned onto his face from using it so much. So much rage comes in a small package, as he stands about the shortest member of your group. There really isn't much else to say about this little jackass, he pretty much speaks for himself with his loathing of everything and everyone.

Next up in your group, there is an aspiring photographer and fashion designer by the name of Kanaya Maryam. She seems like an eloquent, calm and collected young lady, but you know better – that girl is more cracked than a rugged acorn. You have never known her to yell at anyone or break her perfectly calm facade, but there's no ignoring the way people make a wide berth around her if she has an irritated aura about her person. Kanaya is downright terrifying. It's also school-wide knowledge that she is more than likely a lesbian, though no one dares to call her out on it.

Neither do you, quite frankly.

There's a rather bubbly girl amongst your friends that sometimes drives you a little crazy, but on the whole she is one of the sweetest people you know and you could never imagine your days without her. Her name is Feferi Peixes, and she is utterly obsessed with marine biology. You always used to get paired up with her for lab assignments in your sophomore year, and boy, can that girl gush about sea life. You don't so much mind, though; while it would annoy you from anyone else, there's just something about Feferi that brightens up a room in the most non-irritating way. You think she might have a bit of a crush on you but you've never brought it up.

The final person in your circle is, unfortunately, not within walking distance. Aradia Megido has been your very best friend since you were children, and despite the fact that she is still back in New York you two keep in touch famously. You can tell her absolutely everything, and you do on a regular basis; sometimes you think she's the only person who keeps you sane in the grand scheme of things. At one point the two of you were an item (she claims it's because she thinks your lisp is the most adorable thing, which it definitely isn't), and for the life of you, you can't remember why you didn't work out. She plans on studying to be an archaeologist and she always used to bring you fossils that she would dig up or casts she would find on her miniature expeditions with her grandfather – you still wear the necklace she made for you out of a honey bee cast in amber.

Oh, by the way, you really have a thing for bees. This information, however, means very little to the storyline and will thus be here simply to fill some white space.

As it was mentioned before, you currently spend a chunk of your free time tutoring for students who have trouble focusing or struggle with certain subjects. They never come to you of their own free will – more often than not it's on the urging of their parents or teachers, but that suits you just fine. Most of them learn pretty quickly that you aren't the type to take their lazy bullshit and you also don't have a problem letting them fail if they don't listen to you, so despite your general dislike for the majority of the student body you have had very few failures.

It stands to reason that you had to run into a snag somewhere along the line, right?

That snag just happens to be a pain in the ass cool kid by the name of Dave Strider. You cannot even put to words how much you detest this loser. In fact, you are pretty sure you haven't been able to even look at him without wanting to wrap your hands around his throat and slam his face into a wall. Which is very unlike you, as you have some pretty decent control over your temper for the most part.

It isn't anything so specific about Dave that bothers you, when you really stop to think about it. The fact is, it's more that on a whole he just exudes nonchalance. He literally gives not a single fuck about anything – school, the fact that he's failing nearly all of his classes, or your honest attempts to forcibly yank his head out of his own ass and get him on track. You suppose you could maybe give him the benefit of the doubt, if he wasn't such an arrogant prick to top it all off.

The kid is all about irony and metaphors, and most of the time you just want to fucking punch him. He always has some kind of remark for anything and everything you say, and that makes you want to hit him even more and even harder.

“Okay, tho if you take thethe two numberth, and divide the thum of – pleathe tell me you're paying attention, I really don't want to drag out the athhole today,”

Dave smirks at you, just the tiniest twitch of his lips into a smarmy upward movement, the little bastard. “Yeah, I'm lithtening,”

You bristle.

The only reason you haven't hauled off and murdered him yet is because Aradia tells you it would be a bad idea. In one of your late-night chat logs she suggests trying a different approach, possibly to grab his interest with something unusual. You honestly give it your best attempt – you learn about him, pick up little hints, pay more attention than you would to any normal human being. You learn he loves music, writing his own raps and dropping beats. He begrudgingly lets you listen to some. (Begrudgingly, because you kind of stole his headphones without asking, but that's what the kid gets for being within reaching distance.)

“Captor, is there such a thing as manners on the planet you come from, or do you just grab things and call it a day? Oh, hey, excuse me sir, let me just grab the headphones right off of your ears. Yeah, cool bro, enjoy. Ma'am, don't mind my hand, it seems to have found your tit. Oh sure, go ahead, grab away, have a good day now.”

“Shut your flapping gumth for a thecond, Thtrider, I'm trying to find the appeal in thith crap,”

It isn't your type of music, but Strider isn't bad. Not at all. You imagine at some point he could be a great DJ, and you wonder for a moment if maybe that's what he's going to do with himself. In which case he doesn't need you even a little bit, let him fail out of school – but then you realize you're finding him interesting automatically, instead of having to force yourself, and that's a problem.

You quickly forget about everything Dave Strider likes and try to pick up and move on with your life.


	2. Chapter 2

Your name is now Dave Strider, and do you ever hate living in Austin, Texas.

Not that you would know what it was like to live anywhere else- you’ve called the same tiny penthouse apartment home ever since you popped into the world as a wriggling pink prodigy.

You’ve often wondered what it would be like to live in other cities, and while you can’t know for sure, you’re convinced it would be better than this. Everything is unappealing to you- the ridiculous heat, the weird Southern enthusiasm, and, most notably, the shitty public high school you attend.

Well, attend occasionally. Your principal has told you on multiple occasions that you hold the school record for most absences, something you can’t help but be slightly proud of. Today is Wednesday, and it also just happens to be your first day of school for the week. You swore off Mondays completely at the very beginning of the year, and on Tuesday there were stacks of video games calling your name.

Today, though, even your Bro was raising his eyebrows at you, and he normally didn’t give a shit unless you did something way out of line. So you took the hint, collected your things, and shuffled your way to the bus stop.

The halls are crowded as usual, the off-white walls glowing sickly in the fluorescent lights. You’re late for first period, but your teacher doesn’t even bother looking up from her lecture as you slide into your seat at the back of the class. You take the knowledge that she cares deeply about your academic career to heart as you untangle your headphones and slide them on. They’re bright red, and your whitish-blond hair doesn’t even hope to hide them. But, as with your shades, the faculty has long since given up on you.

You hardly say another word to anyone for the rest of the morning. Content to not have absorbed a single word any of the teachers said, you decide to take the last half of third period off for a smoke. You sit on the warm grass by the back of the school, breathing in the familiar scent of cheap tobacco, and let your mind buzz with blasting music.

You return to the school for lunch period, meeting up with the usual group- John buzzing with stories of his morning, Jade making smiley faces out of her macaroni, and Rose reading a thick hardcover book under the table. You sit with your back to the rest of the cafeteria, attempting to ignore the loud babble of idiots. It’s the same every day, anyway- another round of relationships coming together and falling apart, teachers assigning too much homework, gossip about the newest athlete or actor. You’re bored with it all, and choose instead to feign interest as John tells you about his incredibly exciting morning bus ride.

“I think I’m going to take the afternoon off,” you announce to the group at large, as John’s speech lulls for a moment. Rose pauses in her reading to give you a cynical look.

“You’ve already missed two days this week, Dave.”

“If I have to listen to Ms. Robinson give another lecture about the Doppler effect, I’m going to use my pen to commit seppuku.”

Jade frowned, spinning her fork between her fingers. “It’s stuff you need to know, Dave!”

“Stuff you need to know,” You correct. “I don’t really have plans for being a mad scientist. Dramatically-placed torches make me look washed out.”

Jade rolls her eyes, and Rose speaks up again. “Don’t you have tutoring this afternoon?”

You rack your memory and reluctantly find that she’s right. You’ve got a date with the skeletal geek-freak. Oh joy.

“You already missed your Monday session,” Rose continues.

You sigh dramatically, flopping back into your seat. “Lalonde, the Incredible Dork doesn’t give a shit whether or not I actually show up. He hates me.”

“By not going you’re wasting his time as well as your own, Dave.”

“I honestly don’t give a shit.” You spread your hands wide, attempting to convey your levels of uncaring. There are mix tapes and solitude calling your name back at the apartment, and you aren’t about to deny them. Rose, however, shakes her head.

“Don’t be so quick to disregard him, Dave. I’ve been speaking with one of his close friends, Kanaya Maryam, and he seems like a much more interesting individual than you take him for.”

You are honestly struggling to find words to convey how wrong Rose is. “Lalonde, his main interests are coding and Starcraft. I don’t care what your lesbian crush says, he’s a huge nerd who has nothing better to do than lisp angrily at dumbasses.”

John finally pipes up, a familiar grin splitting his face. “You just called yourself a dumbass.”

You throw a plastic spoon at his head.

“I still say you should at least give him a chance to try,” Rose insists, refusing to be distracted even when John lobs a piece of sandwich back your way. You dodge easily before thinking over Rose’s words.

Despite his incredibly geeky demeanor, your tutor doesn’t seem that bad. At least he wasn’t one of those nerds who had never heard of personal hygiene- he looked decent enough, if not a bit pale, and he always smelled okay. Not that you noticed the way he smelled intentionally- it was just hard not to when he was reaching right across your face to get to a specific book, like the mannerless idiot he was.

Not that you’re really one to talk.

At one point last week he’d even listened to some of your music, and deemed it “okay”, which was probably the best you’d get from him. You wonder vaguely what his type of music is- video game soundtracks, probably.

“Fine,” you sigh, and Rose gives a stupid triumphant smirk. “But I don’t know why you’re so intent on me hanging out with Mr. Incredigeek.”

Rose rests her chin in her hand thoughtfully. “Have you ever considered that I might not want you to fail all of your classes? I know that you won’t accept my help, but Sollux Captor seems like a perfectly good tutor, if you would give him a chance.” You open your mouth to explain that he really isn’t, he’s just a bossy asshat who thinks he knows everything, but Rose holds up a finger to silence you. “Second,” She continues, “From what Kanaya has said, I think you two could be good for each other.”

You raise an eyebrow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I mean that the only people you currently interact with are the three of us.”

You resist the urge to scowl. “That’s just ‘cause I’ve known you three forever.”

“Exactly.” Rose nods and stands, as if her point was just proven. “I think it would be greatly beneficial for you to associate with someone who hasn’t seen you in diapers.”

“I look damn good in diapers and you know it.”

Rose just smiles that smug smile again, waves goodbye to John and Jade, and sashays away with her empty food tray.

You deflate with a sigh and lean back in your seat. John glances over to you. “Hey, she’s probably right.” He’s grinning, but you know John well enough to see that it’s more of a placeholder than an actual emotion. “You should really talk to other people more.”

“Yeah, I can’t wait for all the interesting conversations I’ll have with The Dork Knight. Nothing gets my heart racing like circuit chips.”

John reaches across the table to swat your arm just as the bell rings. You stand and crack your back, making Jade wrinkle her nose at you.

“Make friends!” She calls, as you slouch toward your next class.

“Yeah, yeah.” You call. Only two more periods and a tutoring session to tolerate, and then you can drag your ass home to your turntables and video games.

An afternoon has never dragged by so slowly.

By the time the last period bell rings and you escape a creative type of torture called Literary Analysis, you have lost absolutely any desire to go to tutoring. You don’t care what Lalonde and Egbert say- an hour of being lisped at by a smartass geek is never a productive use of time. However, on the way outside you end up wandering right past the library, and Sollux hails you down from the usual table with a call of “hey, Thtrider!”

For a long moment you consider just ignoring him, but finally you decide that you’re not that big of a dick and wander over to him. The nerd already has an entire desk covered with binders and papers, his laptop perching precariously on a history textbook. He quickly closes a window that looked suspiciously like Minecraft as you approach, and you can’t help but smirk. At least he has a few hobbies other than school. Kind of.

You flop down in the chair beside him, sprawling your legs out under the desk. He looks over at you and clears his throat in a way that he probably thinks makes it sound like he’s about to say something important, though you decide it just makes him sound kind of ill.

“Okay, tho today I thought we’d cover some English. Let’th thee what you’re working on.”

You wonder how he manages not to spit when he talks, with a lisp that prominent. You can honestly barely understand him sometimes, but he manages to look natural while stumbling all over his own tongue.

“How about I don’t do this shit today,” you suggest, reaching to slide on your headphones. A bony-fingered hand catches yours.

“Oh no you don’t. I’m not about to let your thorry ath fail, no matter how hard you try.”

You roll your eyes, but reluctantly release your headphones. He lets go of your hand quickly, as if he doesn’t want to be in contact with you any more than necessary. You wonder for a split second if you still smell like smoke, and then decide you really don’t care.

“Sorry to break it to you, dude, I’m already failing. Let’s just give this lost cause a proper burial and send it on its way. We can hire a band and rent those depressing funeral tuxedos. I bet I can get a cheap deal on caskets.”

Sollux huffs in frustration. “Ath incredibly tempting ath that thoundth, it’th not happening, tho shut up.” He pulls one of his textbooks closer, flipping through it. “Look, let’th thtart with thomething thimple.” Jesus, you really can’t get used to his lisp. It’s like he’s trying to imitate a snake who just lost it’s front teeth. “I know your clath hath to do a project on Napoleon thith themethter, so let’th work on that. Have you done any rethearch yet? I’m going to pretend I don’t already know the anthwer.”

You sigh, flopping your head back to stare up at the ceiling. “No.”

“Okay, well, let’th thtart by getting your information. I’ll even be nithe enough to help you find webthites, all you have to do ith write it down and then put it into ethay format later.”

He turns to his laptop, and you watch lazily as his fingers twitch over keys. They move too fast to be possible, but when you lean forward to check, he really is typing words and not just keysmashing gibberish. You wonder if he practices, and decide he probably does.

Still, you can kind of see why he’d be good at it. His fingers are long and thin, even though the nails are bitten into jagged nubs. He pauses as he finds an acceptable website, turning the laptop so you can see better.

“You alwayth have to write down your thourceth,” he explains. “You’ll need more than thith, but it’th a good thtart. Try to get the noteth in thome thort of chronological order or it’th going to be a cluthterfuck when you thort through them later.”

You adjust your shades as you stare at the bright computer screen. “You know what would be a great teaching idea? You writing these notes for me. It’d be a great learning strategy. Actually, you could just write the whole essay for me. I think I can pay you, even-” you fish in your pocket for a moment, resulting in a small handful of change and pocket lint. “-about two dollars and sixteen cents. What do you say?”

“Shut up and get out thome paper, idiot.”

“Don’t have any.”

Sollux gives an overdramatic sigh as he tugs a piece of paper out of his binder and hands it to you. You stare at it blankly for a few moments.

“Well?” Sollux prompts at last.

“Don’t have a pencil.”

“Jethuth ath-licking chritht,” Sollux mutters, but he hands you a pencil. You twirl it between your fingers- the eraser looks kind of nibbled on.

“Now write already,” Sollux insists, jabbing at the daunting-looking wall of text on his computer screen.

“Can’t write before taking a smoke,” you reply, and stand. Sollux tugs your back into your seat so violently that you’re almost afraid your shirt will tear.

“You do not need a fucking thmoke,” Sollux snaps, and his voice has risen dangerously close to a shout. “Just write the goddamn noteth. I honethtly can’t make it any thimpler for your thingle-thelled brain.”

“Shit, calm down.” You lean forward obediently to read, but the first sentence alone has far too many ‘in addition’s and ‘resulting in’s for you to even attempt to decipher. “He established hegemony over most of continental Europe,” you read flatly. “What the hell does hegemony even mean? He established the hobby of hedge-trimming for fun and profit over most of continental Europe. He was an expert in hedges of the trimmed variety, especially ones that resembled giant cocks. In a famous public event, he took one of his prized cock-hedges and-”

“I thwear to god, Thtrider,” Sollux snarls, and you look up at him innocently.

“What? My essay’s going to stand out. Hell, I’ll be surprised if it doesn’t bring a tear to the teacher’s eye.”

“Yeah, me too.” Every word drips sarcasm, but you pretend not to notice. “…ugh, okay, let’th do thomething elthe for a bit. Get out your math shit, we’ll work on that.”

You dig a crumpled set of word problems out of your bag, and Sollux launches into an explanation. You lean back in your chair, tuning out the buzz of his voice. Not that it’s unpleasant, really. In fact, as you watch him make complicated hand gestures in an attempt to explain when to use the denominator, you decide he’s not all that bad looking, for a guy who’s main goal in life is to rewrite the entire internet. He’s too thin and his nose is too pointy, but he’s got nice eyes. You think they might even be different colors, though it’s hard to tell behind his glasses.

“…and you put the variable there. Got it?”

“Nope.”

“Fuck, you’re thtupid.”

All in all, you decide, tutoring isn’t as horrible as it could be.

At least the view is nice.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait, guys! Real life has been pretty hectic lately! Also, there will likely be another few weeks between updates - between myself and Lucyha, there's just a lot of stuff going on~

Once again, your name is Sollux Captor, and your week has been absolute shit.

You suppose maybe it wouldn't have been so bad, if it was just the usual piles of utter bull that you already put up with on a daily basis. All of that hasn't changed – the usual tutoring suspects, the ones who actually listen to you and learn things occasionally; Karkat's bitching about the president of the school's Anime club, a bright-eyed girl named Nepeta who has probably been trying to get his attention every day since kindergarten; your father asking you about your day, and what colleges you've been applying to (a grand total of zero, so far).

The only thing that seems to have made the last five days a living hell is that one giant wrench in the cogs, Strider.

Fucking Strider.

At some point or another you recall a psychiatrist diagnosing you with bipolar disorder, and while your medication helps, you still slip every now and then. Normally, you are absolutely pro at hiding your fluctuating moods, but lately even your oblivious best friend has been noticing the irritated crease to your brow when you slam your bag down at the lunch table.

“Alright, Captor,” Karkat gives a roll of his eyes, like it's physically hurting him to pretend he gives a shit about your attitude problem. “Who's the unfortunate asshole that's been pissing in your corn flakes for the last five agonizingly long days? If I have to put up with your shitty mood swings until you're done with your period, I'll fucking rip out my own intestines and strangle you with them. Don't you dare think I won't--”

“KK, shut your hole,” you grumble, your tolerance for his usual bullshittery completely exhausted. To think, it's Thursday, and you still have a whole day of this to deal with before you can get a break. With a heavy sigh, you pull your canvas bag up into your lap, fishing past your precious laptop and pulling out a slightly-crinkled manilla envelope that looks to have an address scrawled over the back of it. From the envelope, you produce a thick stack of papers, tossing them carelessly to the side.

Kanaya lifts her gaze from her lunch, a plastic container from home with some kind of fruity salad confined within, regarding the stack with a delicately arched brow. “Are those college applications, Sollux?” Without asking permission, she reaches over and takes the page from the top of the slightly-scattered pile. “...This school isn't even in the state. In fact, New Hampshire is quite a ways.”

You grunt a little, ready to open your mouth and respond when Feferi chimes in.

With what looks like an upset little frown to her lips, the aspiring marine biologist glances over the paper. Her brow creases in worry. “That's really far! You aren't applying to Dartmouth, are you, Sol?”

Your shoulders twitch. Reaching into the folder again, you tug out another piece of paper – a bit more carefully this time. “Don't get your pantieth in a bunch, Fef,” you flash her an exhausted smile, the only one you would even bother trying for. She really is a sweet girl. It's too bad you aren't attracted to her. “I'm not going anywhere. My dad jutht wanth to thee me applying to platheth he wanth to thee me get into. I'm jutht appeathing him until I turn eighteen and can do what I want to do.” Of course, he'll probably kick you out the second you tell him you have no intention of becoming a lawyer, but whatever. You don't mention that to your friends.

Instead, your attention turns to the letter in your hands, the words on the page in maroon ink and drowning out Karkat's ranting and flailing about the stack of college applications. None of it matters when your best friend's handwriting falls into your line of sight, and you relax just a little more.

'Hey Sol,

It really has been far too long since I’ve written you a letter. Now that I think about it, it must have been back when I did my last exchange! Egypt was fun, I most certainly miss it—but more than missing the location and all the sand and relics, I miss you! I hate the fact that you’re a little bummed about college, your tutoring students, and things like that without me being there to offer you some comfort, but I guess things always work out in the way they’re supposed to. Stay strong! You can always reach me whenever you may need or want to. I’ll be cheering you on from a distance most certainly—I’ll even dance under the stars for you tonight!

I hate to cut the exchange short, but I’m afraid this piece of parchment has already gotten far dirtier than I would have liked—jeez, my hands are so messy! Anyways! I miss you loads, and I love you to bits—and I really hope that I either receive a return letter from you or speak to you soon online~!

Aradia Megido'

Sure enough, there are the tell-tale splotches of dirt and dust staining the piece of paper, and you smile more to yourself than anything else, fingers reaching up to toy with the amber pendant hanging from your neck. Aradia is one of the only people that can cheer you up on your bad days, which is exactly why you waited until lunch today to open this letter. You'll probably read it at least three more times before the day is out, and once more for good measure before bed.

You have to remember to write back to her.

“--lux? Sollux!”

Feferi's voice brings you back from your little world where you're imagining your former girlfriend's bright smile and shining eyes as she twirls under the starlight.

You tuck away everything, being careful as ever with Aradia's letter, and close your bag back up just as the bell rings. Jerking yourself away from the table, you head for the hallway – the next block is your study hall, otherwise known as another tutoring session with Dave. Suddenly anything resembling a good mood you may have had dissolves again, your fingers curling around the strap of your bag, while Kanaya falls into step beside you.

“You seem a fair bit more agitated than usual,” she observes, in that way she does, because she is totally observant and not obvious about it at all. “Perhaps this is one 'student' you should be taking in smaller doses?”

You tip your head towards her, looking as irritated as you can, even though you know she's right. The two of you weave through the crowd of students dispersing from the cafeteria, picking your way up the stairs to the library. “I'm fine,” you lie, badly because you know she can see right through you. What is it with you making friends with nosy busybodies who can read you like a book? “Thtrider'th juth another kid. I'll handle thith. Bethideth, ithn't hith thithter your lethbian lover or thomething? Don't you thtalk her?”

The photographer lifts a brow at you, her expression otherwise not changing. “Sollux,” her tone is a bit clipped, just the tiniest bit. Just enough to let you know she means business. “I would thank you not to jab at my sexual preference – not all of us are as insecure about it as you are.”

The statement is enough to leave you speechless for a moment, before your face burns and you glare at her. “I'm thtraight. Fuck yourthelf,”

All you get in return is a light chuckle, and the upturn of Kanaya's lips that tells you she's won this argument. She's right. “Enjoy your tutoring session,” she chimes, “and if you would like me to pick Rose for information about her step brother, I would be more than happy to help advance your romantic adventures.”

She disappears down the hall before you can find something in your bag to throw at her.

Taking a deep breath, you grumble under your breath. Honestly, everyone is out to get you this week. In a few more steps you've signed into the library, picking your way to a back table and getting set up before pulling out your phone to text your student. He's late, big surprise there.

Before you can punch out the message though, a bag drops onto the floor beside your chair and your gaze shoots up to spot the blond. Headphones wrapped around his neck as usual, Dave Strider slumps down into the other seat, all slouches and uncaring expressions and you have to physically fight the urge to glare at him. It isn't that you give a shit what he thinks of you, you just don't want to make this any harder than it has to be. It's already like nailing jell-o to a tree, trying to work with him.

Neither of you even bother to say hello.

“I figured we'd cover lit today, thinthe your teacher theemth tho contherned about it,” getting right down to business, you tug 'Hamlet' out from your small pile of books and flip through it. Avoiding eye contact the entire time. “Shakethpeare ith your neckth tetht material, tho let'th thtart there.”

Dave lifts a brow at you, out of the corner of your eye you can see it, and his voice comes out with something...completely unexpected. “So break, my heart, for I must hold my tongue,” he quotes, flawlessly from the text in your hand, and your eyebrows shoot up towards your hairline.

“...you don't need help in literature, do you? Are you jutht failing for shith and giggleth, then?”

He shrugs. Loosely, nonchalantly. God you fucking hate this kid. “I must be cruel, only to be kind: thus bad begins and worse remains behind,” and you are pretty sure he's smirking at you.

You can't be sure, but based on the odd little churn of your stomach, you think it's safe to say you have never held so much hatred – and so much appreciation at the same time – for one human being. It's impressive, though you would never admit it aloud. He's smart. He really is. You can see it, hear it in his tone when he spouts out Shakespeare quotes like it's nothing. The fact isn't that he doesn't get it, and that infuriates you like nothing else. The blond just doesn't want to put in the effort. To think, some people actually had to work hard to understand this shit – and here he is, wasting his talent.

More than anything, now, you're driven to keep going with this tutoring stuff. You want to make him succeed, if only because you know he can.

“Cool. Fucking perfect,” your tone comes out more annoyed than you originally intended, but you don't bother to correct it as you stow the books away again. “Alright, tho thinthe you're clearly the printhe of all thingth Shakethpeare, you jutht choothe not to pull your head out of your ath and apply it...”

“The lady doth protest too much, methinks,” is the interrupting quote, at which point you roll up those college applications from earlier and thwack him on the arm with them.

“You're a dick,” you tell him needlessly.

You have to admit, though, through all of the annoyance, this kid is kind of growing on you.

The thought is dismissed without even a second glance, because hell, you are not going to make friends with him. No. Hell no. He's a completely different kind of asshole. Turning back to your laptop, you exhale heavily and double-check the syllabus you pieced together earlier that week. You don't bother stopping to think about how dedicated to this you already are, considering it's just business as usual – you made a point to get Dave's schedule from the office, go around to all of his teachers and pick up his grades, places where he suffered the most, and current topics. You had this all mapped out and down to a 'T.'

If only all tutors were this anal about everything. Maybe more students would pass.

“What's this crap? Letter from your girlfriend?”

The sudden question makes every thought you just had about 'maybe he's not so bad' disappear in record time. So much for that. Turning your head so fast you swear you can hear your neck crack, you catch the blond with that precious letter in his hands. You bristle, but don't say anything, reaching out with one hand and wordlessly asking for it back. Making sure your eyes are narrowed in a warning glare. You aren't fucking around with this.

Imagine your surprise (sarcasm, of course) when he doesn't comply, scooting back his chair just a little. Just in case you decide to jump him. “Whoa there, I haven't even gotten a chance to read it yet. Better hope you've kept this PG-13, Captor, there are young, mold-able minds present,” Dave leans back in his chair, then, tipping his head back and lifting the letter up so he can read it.

You feel the guttural growl rumbling in your throat, teeth clenching almost to the point of pain as a famous temper boils inside of you. Deep breaths, just like your doctor said, don't get worked up, be calm... “Thtrider, give me it. It'th not from my girlfriend, it'th from a clothe friend back home,” all of your words are spoken slowly, carefully, making a point to try and keep yourself from flying off the handle. You can't afford another broken laptop.

Lifting out of your seat just a little, you are still positioned there with your hand stretched out like a moron. Watching him read the letter that made your day worth it.

The stretch of silence as he reads just makes your temper burn hotter, something you push back with all the force you can muster while still keeping your attentions trained on Strider. He snorts lightly after a moment, and you just know he's going to start mocking you before he even opens his mouth. “Aww, she misses you,” sure enough, that tone is painfully condescending. “Damn, dude, what sort of freaky mind-control hacks did you have to do to pin down this piece of ass?"

That's what does it. You're on him before you even know what you're doing, the blond's chair toppling to the floor as you shove him out of it, unaware of your movements, the sounds, or anything else but the fact that you're seeing red and you have a fistful of his shirt and you're on top of him. You can feel him tense under you, muscles going rigid and automatically pulling away from your grip.

“She'th not jutht thome 'piethe of ath,' you twat,” your voice is still low, somehow, still a hiss, but oh how you wish you could scream at him. “Aradia Megido ith a better human being than anyone elthe on thith planet could ever hope to be, motht of all you!”

It's all you can do not to punch him in the face, and while your fist clenches behind you, ready to do just that, there's a pair of hands yanking you off the kid before you can actually follow through.

“Sollux, for fuck's sake – did you take your medication this morning?!” It's Karkat, and despite the fact that he's got little to nothing on height against you, the runt is a fair bit stronger. Whipping your glare around, you spot the librarian flanking your best friend, the look on her face that says you're in some deep shit. Suddenly not hitting Strider is the best choice you've made all day.

The control over your temper returns just as fast as it dissolved, and you grunt in response, your prize – the letter – clenched in your other hand. Apologizing profusely to the librarian and assuring her it won't happen again, you shrug Karkat off of you and fold up Aradia's letter.

As everything quiets back down again, students go back to their work, and you tuck the paper safely into your bag, a sudden wave of exhaustion crashes over you. Just like every other time you've lost your temper, or had a mood swing. You're just so sick and tired of this.

You watch out of the corner of your eye as Dave picks himself up off the floor, straightening his headphones before collapsing back into the chair beside you. There's a long silence, as Dave watches you carefully. Maybe wondering if you're going to start punching him again.

“Oh, what rogue and peasant slave am I!" He says at last, and with an intentional dramatic flair.

God, you hate that kid.


End file.
